


Second Hand Unwinding

by Lizardbeth



Category: Jeremiah - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, buddy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 23:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Markus and Jeremiah discover the war's not over.  They're forced to work together to survive, when their enemies force them out into the wilderness on their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers**: This is set immediately after the series finale, _Interregnum_, and spoils the entire series.
> 
> It's a gen buddy fic, but you can read it as slashy if you want. Originally written for the LJ Jeremiah ficathon.

After all that had happened, Jeremiah was glad to finally be able to report to Markus over the radio.

"So the guy, Captain John Brady, he was Sims' second in command. And he realized that Daniel was fake and he's ordered all his men to stand down."

The answer came back over the radio in his hand, "_That is very good news, Jeremiah. Well done. And Sims_?"

Jeremiah clenched his jaw and managed not to speak with too much satisfaction. "Dead."

There was a short pause over the radio while Markus couldn't quite bring himself to say that it was good news too, but they both knew it was. "_Well, I'm not gonna cry over it_," he said finally. "_Hopefully we'll soon start seeing a withdrawal from here_."

"Kurdy and I told him that he'd better lift the siege right away, or his surrender didn't mean shit," Jeremiah confirmed. "He's calling it in now."

"_We'll wait. It's not like I have an urgent appointment anywhere_," Markus said dryly, and Jeremiah chuckled.

"No. Guess not. But John would like to meet you before he negotiates the terms. I think he wants to make sure you actually exist."

"_I can't blame him for that. I'll come as soon as his men pull back_."

Jeremiah exchanged a glance of alarm with Kurdy and clicked the radio, "No, I don't think that's such a good idea. I'll vouch for John himself, but all his people are something else again. It's not secure yet."

Markus' voice on the radio took on a tone of impatience or irritation. "_You just told me John himself is reluctant to negotiate without knowing I exist. You've got over five thousand men there, I think that's plenty secure enough. But you have at least a day; I've got some cleaning up in here to do first. Lee will contact you later when we've made arrangements. Thunder Mountain out_."

There was a click, shutting off the communication. Markus was clearly not interested in discussion. Jeremiah put away the radio, and grimaced at Kurdy. "To think I once told him that he shouldn't be hiding in the mountain."

Kurdy snorted. "Be careful what you wish for, man."

Jeremiah shook his head and looked over the wide field to some Eastern soldiers barely visible on the opposite ridge. "They're breaking up. I don't think John can hold them."

Kurdy moved to his side and looked the same way. "Sims is dead, John just ordered their surrender, and now they find out that Daniel's a lie. Of course they're confused. But I think Markus sees the opportunity in it."

"Opportunity to get his ass shot off," Jeremiah added sourly. He gestured toward the enemy. "Any of them can be pissed off at this surrender and have a rifle."

Kurdy clouted him on the shoulder with his fist. "You worry too much. Besides, you're the one Daniel tried to kill, not Markus. I'd worry about that rifle finding you first."

He chuckled as he turned away to go back toward the main encampment. "C'mon, I see Gina waving. Dinner's ready," he called over his shoulder.

Jeremiah glared a little more at the opposing camp. Everything was going so well - there'd been no battle, nobody had died, and John had been smart ... That had to mean it was all going to hell soon.

* * *

The next day dawned cold and far too busy for Jeremiah's liking. Some off-shoot of Daniel's army had attacked a supply convoy headed from Thunder Mountain to Millhaven, and Kurdy had taken a large group to hunt them down. Jeremiah had stayed at the camp, meeting once with John to make arrangements for later.

Gina approached and smiled brightly. "There's coffee and breakfast in the command tent."

He was going to refuse, since there was no shortage of crap to do, but it was always so hard to tell her no. She was just so damn... earnest.

"Okay." He let everyone know where he was planning to be and trudged in Gina's wake back toward the middle of camp. Anxiety was still a nausea-inducing lump in his belly -- Markus was scheduled to arrive in two hours and Jeremiah still had the bad feeling that there might be a battle here. John's control over his men was tenuous at best for those he was keeping in camp, and non-existent over some who had slipped off into the woods.

He ducked under the flap, expecting the tent to be empty except for the promised breakfast. What he didn't expect was to find Markus standing beside the main table, examining a map spread on its surface. There were two full bowls of oatmeal sitting nearby, and the smell of coffee drifted from the pair of cups on the table top.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jeremiah demanded.

Markus turned his head and lifted an eyebrow at him. "Good morning to you, too."

"You're not supposed to be here yet." Jeremiah put both fists on the table top and leaned on it, glaring across at Markus. Then he realized he hadn't asked the important question, given that Markus obviously wasn't coming in the heavily armed convoy in two hours. "How did you get here?"

"In a truck." Markus returned to his examination of the map of the surrounding area with John's men marked on it, but not before Jeremiah caught the faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Smart ass. You know what I meant."

"Lee made the good point that if we were going to make all this noise about my visit, it might be smarter to get here ahead of it more, uh," he hesitated, and the smile widened to a smirk, "covertly. So Brian drove me as part of the supply convoy, and we peeled away about thirty minutes ago and came here."

Jeremiah was sure that somewhere God was laughing His ass off at his expense. "The supply convoy that got set on by the stragglers?"

The smile vanished from Markus' face, and he inhaled a sharp breath and nodded. "That one. Yes."

Jeremiah shut his eyes, thinking how close they'd come. He was going to have to hit something. Did Markus not even realize what had very nearly happened? "So what you're saying is that if those Daniel fanatics had picked a place closer to Thunder Mountain to hit the supply convoy, they'd have taken out your car, probably you with it, and nobody but Lee would've even known you were there?" He glared at Markus, who didn't answer, and then snorted. "Yeah, I'd say that was a fucking brilliant plan."

Markus gave a small shrug. "It worked. I'm here and only a few people know."

Jeremiah wanted to grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him. How was it that someone so smart was so completely lacking in common sense? "Markus--"

Markus faced him, his face more serious, as he shed the flippant pose. "Look, I appreciate it was risky. But there's a risk in everything Outside. And I'm not going to stay home wrapped in cotton balls, afraid to leave, because it's dangerous out here."

Jeremiah grit his teeth. Markus **said** there was danger, but then he went and did stupid things like this that made it clear he didn't get it at all. "But there's risk and then there's risk. And you didn't even tell **me**, so I could've helped if you'd gotten in trouble," Jeremiah complained.

"Knowing I was there, wouldn't have let you get there any faster. But if you'd known, you would've tried to send more guards. And that would've tipped off the fanatics that the convoy was different, causing them to use more force. We could've lost a lot more than five people," Markus pointed out, with that infuriating logic of his. God, did Jeremiah hate it when Markus did that.

Worst of all, he had a point. Jeremiah knew he would've sent some more people to guard the convoy and escort Markus to camp. He let out an aggravated grunt. "Fine. You're here and I know damn well you're not going to listen to me anyway --"

"I do listen," Markus interrupted, quietly. "I always listen, Jeremiah. Even if I don't agree with you."

Jeremiah glanced at him, and his gaze met Markus'. The memory of numerous disagreements went through his mind, and Jeremiah couldn't help quirking his lips upward. "Like, never?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," Markus protested. He wasn't smiling, but there was a hint of amusement crinkling his eyes. "I think we managed to agree that Smith is an odd duck."

Thoughts of Smith reminded Jeremiah of Libby, and since thoughts of Libby stirred the simmering pot of rage that had lodged beneath his ribcage, Jeremiah took a verbal step left around them. "Glass houses, Markus."

Markus was raising his coffee, then lowered it again, untasted, to retort, "I never claimed I talk to God. And I could've, you know. Prophets get a hell of a lot more leeway. Not to mention obedience." At first Jeremiah thought "obedience" was a stab in his direction, but Markus wasn't looking at him. His gaze lowered to the maps in front of him and the amusement slipped from his face. "That's half our problem with Daniel. He's been so carefully constructed to be so damn perfect, people _want_ to believe. When their faith gets challenged, some people grow disillusioned like your new friend John, but some will cling harder and more fiercely to what they want to believe is true." He frowned, and one finger idly traced a spiral pattern on the map, widening to the outermost edge of the paper.

"And not just here. You tipped over a domino yesterday that's going to be felt all the way to Boston. News is already spreading back east -- we caught a radio transmission last night with a brief report of Sims' death and John's surrender. Who knows what the report will become by the time it reaches people's ears? What kind of chaos it might breed? Or what kind of resolve it might harden in ordinary people, becoming some kind of holy war against us?"

Jeremiah looked at Markus, at his calm face, as he delivered the words that made ice crystals form inside Jeremiah's gut. Because, God, he was right. He'd been thinking only about John and his men, not the fact that an entire country was eventually going to find out that their leader was a lie. Some of them would be like Rachel -- those who never believed in the first place, or lost their belief in the face of atrocity -- but some had to believe.

"So even if we get John and his men on our side, we haven't really won," Jeremiah said.

Markus snorted a chuckle, dry and humorless. "We haven't even fought the battle, yet."

But before Jeremiah could find something to say, Markus shook himself once. "That's not to say it wasn't a good thing you did. Because it was. And I suppose we'd better deal with what's on our plate before I get carried away with worst-case scenarios. So, come here and explain this map to me, while we eat." He picked up one of the bowls, stirred its congealing contents with a grimace, and spooned some in his mouth. He ate only half of it before he abandoned it for coffee and adding up estimates of Daniel's numbers and weapons on the back of a report.

Jeremiah ate all of his, savoring the hint of cinnamon that someone had put in, and didn't let his briefing get much in the way of eating.

* * *

The two sides walked slowly through the weeds and late-summer grass toward their meeting place in the middle.

Jeremiah's eyes traveled restlessly from John and his three companions approaching, to the line of distant enemy soldiers behind them. This field was too open. Sure it let his side watch for mischief, but it also let the other side have a great shot at them. He kept catching himself from looking down at his chest or Markus', wondering if there was a laser targeting dot. He wished Kurdy had made it back, because he had only Gina and Warren with him as protection. And nobody was carrying anything more than a knife.

Jeremiah had thought that was stupid, but Markus had declared that he wasn't starting negotiations with a lie. Both sides were supposed to leave their guns in camp, and so he would. Jeremiah had held his tongue, despite his misgivings. He might call Markus an idiot and question his decisions in private, but not where everyone could hear. He'd learned enough in Millhaven this past year to have a bit more appreciation for Markus' position.

He glanced aside at Markus, walking next to him without any sign of anxiety, even though Jeremiah thought he might have to puke to get rid of the knotting in his own stomach. He couldn't really be that cool about this, could he?

But all Jeremiah saw was determination, and it let him inhale a deep breath and release it a little at a time as he walked. Maybe everything was going to be okay after all.

From ten feet away, Jeremiah could see John zero in on Markus, with a focus that never wavered. They all stopped. Gina and Warren spread out a bit to cover the flanks, and their counterparts did the same. The fourth guy, next to John, was tall, topping Jeremiah by a hand.

"Captain John Brady," Jeremiah introduced them, "This is Gina, Warren, and Markus Alexander."

John ignored Gina and Warren, lifting his chin and staring at Markus in challenge. "How do I know that's who you really are?"

Markus frowned and lifted his brows in a sort of a shrug. "I suppose you don't. It's not like I have photo i.d. But I am Markus Alexander. But not that it matters too much, since someone claiming to be me is more than you'll ever get with Daniel, I can promise you that."

The tall guy flinched and tightened his jaw at Markus' words. He stared over Jeremiah's shoulder at the alliance's camp. Apparently the news wasn't sitting well with even John's lieutenants. Jeremiah had some sympathy, since he'd believed in a lie too.

John nodded once, and his stance loosened up a little. "All right, I guess that's all I can ask for," he said. "This is Derek," he indicated the tall guy, "one of our unit commanders, And Terry, and Greg." He gestured to the two flankers: Terry was skinny, pale, and had buzzed his hair down uncomfortably close to Skinhead level, while Greg was short but so muscular his shoulders pulled at his uniform.

Markus nodded to Derek, who didn't respond, at least not to him. Derek flicked a glance at Greg and nodded. Then he pulled a gun from under his shirt.

Oh shit. Jeremiah stumbled back a step, his mind very unhelpfully pointing out that he'd been right. This was all going to hell. Right now.

Greg and Terry also had weapons. It had all been a ploy.

Jeremiah was suddenly furious at John and he didn't care that the other side had guns, taking a step toward him. "You fucking liar -- "

But he didn't finish, as Derek calmly shot John in the head. Jeremiah jerked, expecting the shot to hit him, and flinched again as blood sprayed all over him. John fell with a wet thump.

There were two more shots, and Jeremiah looked from one side to another, wildly, as Gina and Warren collapsed into the trampled weeds. Warren moaned for a moment, until the sound ended in a burbling and then nothing.

Jeremiah stared at Gina's body. Everything else seemed far away and silent. Her chirpy voice seemed to echo in his ears, calling him "sir" no matter how often he told her to knock it off.

He took a breath, trying to focus. Turning his head, he saw Derek holding his gun straight at him, even though he was looking at Markus. "You try to escape and I'll shoot him dead, too. Let's go."

Fuck. It had been a ploy, but not by John.

They had to get away, but -- another glance showed Greg and Terry now pointing their pistols at him and Markus as well, looking far too ready to fire again.

When neither he nor Markus moved fast enough, Derek jerked his gun a little. "Daniel wants you alive, Markus. But I'm sure he'd be all right with your death, so don't push me."

Markus lifted his chin to look straight at Derek, unflinching. For a moment, Jeremiah was sure that Markus was going to say that Daniel didn't exist, but he said something much worse instead, "You don't need Jeremiah. I'll go with you. Just let him go."

"Fuck that," Jeremiah snapped, but neither Markus nor Derek glanced his way.

Derek jerked the gun again. "I'll take you both. Move."

Slowly, they moved. Jeremiah thought to his people on the ridge behind them, imagining Kurdy had come back and was even now giving the order for a high-powered rifle to take out these bastards. But Derek and his men were careful, gathering in tightly next to Jeremiah and Markus, gun barrels digging into both of them.

If he'd been alone Jeremiah thought he might have taken his chances, but not with Markus next to him. They needed an opening and so far they weren't getting any.

His feet beat a harsh tempo of blame: Markus for not letting them carry weapons, himself for not having a gun anyway, these fanatics who believed in a lie, and John for not being more careful with his choices. Plus, Kurdy for being gone, and Smith for not warning anyone about this. But mostly God, because if God existed, then all of this was God's fault ultimately, wasn't it?

They started up the rise that led to Daniel's troops. There was a small group waiting there, strung out in a line, watching. Not one of them seemed surprised, so Jeremiah presumed they had been in on it.

"You realize this isn't going to get you anything?" Markus said in a remarkably conversational tone. "Every single one of the Western Alliance troops will come get us."

Derek chuckled once, smugly. "Not if they're in the middle of a war."

Jeremiah turned his head, and Markus shared his glance of alarm. He'd thought this was about only the two of them getting taken hostage. But no, this was getting infinitely worse.

"Camp is secure, sir," said one of the men on the ridge to Derek.

"Good. Then spread the word to move out. Daniel wants us to take these bastards out," he announced, "So let's show him what we can do."

"Yes, sir!" Three of the waiting men trotted away to start the battle, heading for the distant columns.

They started down the other side of the ridge, to where the command tents were set up. Troops gathered in formation, several hundred, maybe a thousand strong. They all had rifles in their hands and tidy uniforms with Daniel flags wrapped around their arms. Their officers saluted to Derek as he passed, and more than one person smirked at the sight of the prisoners parading through their midst.

He started seeing bodies as well. Those who had resisted Derek's coup, Jeremiah guessed. There weren't many, but he supposed it didn't take many to intimidate even ten thousand men into following orders they were predisposed to follow anyway.

"God, I hope Kurdy's back," Jeremiah muttered, getting a nudge in the ribs with the gun. Because it wasn't looking good if he hadn't; Kurdy had taken a thousand Alliance troops with him, reducing their troop strength here. And these guys outnumbered them anyway.

The group stopped in front of an open tent, little more than a canopy with its flaps tied up.

"Tie their hands," Derek ordered curtly.

The guy with the gun backed off as others approached, with a length of nylon cord. Now Jeremiah struggled, knowing that getting his hands tied was going to make escape all-but-impossible, but when one of them got hold of his arm and pulled it up behind his back, a shooting pain went through his shoulder and he gasped, holding still.

He heard Markus resisting too, but Markus' main weapon was his mouth and he used it a lot. "You should know that your fifth column in the mountain was completely wiped out. We shot them. And so we're still going to have helicopters, and your army is going to be totally fucked."

Jeremiah raised his brows a trifle, surprised more by the cold relish in Markus' tone than his words.

"Shut up," Derek ordered him.

"Or what?" Markus challenged, glaring at him. He raised his voice, "John can't be the only one here who doesn't want to get killed for A LIE!"

"Shut up!" Derek swung his gun and the butt of it hit Markus on the side of his head, with a shockingly loud crack. He jerked to one side, stumbling, and his mouth opened but nothing came out. For an instant, he was frozen, staring at nothing, and Jeremiah dared hope the hit wasn't so bad. Then his eyes rolled back and he fell to the dirt in a heap.

Jeremiah's breath caught in his chest, as he stared at Markus' still body. God, what if he was -- ? He didn't look like he was breathing. Was he -- no, he couldn't be dead.

"Check him," Derek ordered, and one of the guards knelt to look for a pulse. But Markus let out a gasping breath, and Jeremiah's chest unlocked enough for him to breathe too.

"He's alive, sir." The guard lifted Markus' head up from the ground, and Jeremiah could see the blood dripping off his hair into the dirt. "He's bleeding badly. Should I get a medic?"

"Let him be. He won't die. At least not here." Derek's gaze was full of hate as he looked down at Markus. "I want four of our vehicles ready to go. We're going to send them to Daniel, but we'll have to be clever about it, so they can't stop us." He glanced at Jeremiah, sneering, "In the meantime, enjoy hearing the sound of your army getting ground into hamburger."

Jeremiah said nothing but threw him the finger, though it wasn't very satisfying with his wrists tied behind his back. Derek stalked away to consult with his commanders, leaving only four guards immediately around Jeremiah and Markus.

"I want to make sure he's all right, okay?" he told the guards, nodding toward Markus. One of them gave a brief nod of assent. Careful of his balance with his hands tied, Jeremiah kneeled down at Markus' side. The injured side was against the dirt, so he couldn't get a good look, but he didn't think it was a good sign that nudging Markus with his knee didn't rouse him. "Markus? C'mon, this is a bad time to be sleepin'. Wake up, man."

Markus softly groaned and one of his knees bent, drawing his leg up. He moved his head a little and hissed, as his hands flexed once against the ground and then stopped moving again.

The sound of marching feet interrupted the silence, and Jeremiah turned his head to see Daniel's men start up the ridge line. The hollow thumps of some sort of rocket nearby, heading toward the Alliance line, announced that the battle had been joined.

Jeremiah glanced down at Markus and moved a little closer, as though he had any hope of protecting him now.

* * *

Only a few minutes after the gunfire started in earnest, the guards prodded Jeremiah into the canvas-covered truck and tied his hands to the side railing. They carried Markus in and dumped him on the floor. He didn't stir.

Jeremiah glimpsed the side of his head, where his hair was matted with dirt and blood, and there was a wetter crimson stain on his shirt collar and the side of his neck.

The tailgate slammed shut and the canvas fell across the back, so it was dim. Their only light was the sunlight easing through the dark green canvas and what little managed to seep through the break between the two flaps.

The truck's engine sprang to rumbly life and lurched into gear.

He tugged on his bonds, but the cord was tight on his wrists. There was a separate cord tying him to the rail, and when he pulled side-to-side, there was a bit of give in it. Maybe he could work it loose or saw it through eventually, if he kept at it.

"This sucks," Jeremiah announced to no one and let out a heavy sigh, wishing Markus was awake so they could talk.

But Markus was quiet. Jeremiah couldn't even hear him breathing any more, with the truck's noise covering it. But as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see that Markus had barely moved from where he'd landed.

Jeremiah talked to him anyway, "And I want to say I fucking told you so, about the guns." It gave him some satisfaction to say it, but then he sighed again. "You want everybody to be like you, and they're not. People are petty and mean and selfish. They look out for number one, and you -- well, you don't. And that's why you got your head bashed in, and I'm stuck here with you."

He stretched out his leg, able to touch Markus' knee with his boot and nudge him. "Don't die on me, man," he urged more softly. "Or Erin's gonna kill me. You know she will." He laughed once, without much humor. "I'm under orders, you know. Erin and Chen both told me to watch out for you."

He was thinking about starting a big rant about how Lee had managed to worm himself back into Markus' good graces, back in charge of security at Thunder Mountain, but Markus stirred.

He shifted, pulling at the bonds that kept his hands behind his back, and made a distressed sound in his throat, like the soft mew of a kitten.

"Markus, are you awake? Can you talk to me?" Jeremiah asked anxiously.

He took a moment to answer in a hoarse whisper, "Jeremiah?"

"Yeah. It's me."

Markus straightened his body and turned his head toward Jeremiah, the movement slow and stiff. He blinked his eyes several times and squinted toward Jeremiah, despite the dimness of the interior of the truck. "What happened?" he asked. Even that little talking seemed to hurt him, and he shut his eyes tightly, face lined with pain. "God, my head hurts... " he whispered.

"Derek hit you with the butt of his gun after you provoked him. Don't you remember?"

Instead of shaking his head, Markus whispered, "No." His frown deepened. "We were... walking... in the field... and then... nothing. I can't --"

"It's okay," Jeremiah butted in, hating the edge of fear that had crept into Markus' voice at the loss of his memory. "You got hit on the head; it's no wonder you don't remember. The gist of it is that some of Daniel's people would rather believe in the lie, and they killed John and everyone with him. They shot Gina and Warren, too." He paused and added, when Markus didn't respond, "Then they took us prisoner and fifteen minutes ago, launched an attack on the Alliance."

If he'd thought about it he would've known better than to say anything, but Markus struggled upright at Jeremiah's words, looking wide-eyed and pale. "What? They attacked --"

But that was all the farther he got. He staggered forward on one knee and managed to drape himself over the wheel-well hump before he threw up. He retched long after there was nothing in his stomach left, and didn't move for several minutes after he'd finished, breathing heavily.

Jeremiah let him recover in peace, figuring that Markus was in no condition to appreciate teasing.

Eventually he rolled himself upright and slumped against the wall of the truck, looking sweaty and pallid.

"You okay?" Jeremiah asked.

Markus didn't answer right away and when he did, the admission was not encouraging. "Not really, no." His eyes stayed shut, and his lips were pressed together, tightening with each bump and sway of the truck.

"At least you're not tied to the truck," Jeremiah said. "You can get away."

"Only if I can leave my head here," Markus answered faintly, with a shadow of his usual sarcasm in his voice.

"You'll feel better soon," Jeremiah said, hoping that his words were true. "Maybe if you got some sleep?" he suggested. "Just lay down and rest?"

"Not as many vibrations this way," Markus answered. After another long pause, he asked, "Where are we going?"

"Short term, I have no idea. Long term, we're getting taken to Daniel."

"Great," Markus muttered. He let his head tilt back against the side, only a moment, before lifting it away again.

Jeremiah added, hoping it might serve as a distraction, "The good news is our side was certainly watching it go down, so they know who has us. And since we've got helicopters they should be able to come after us. But probably not 'til after the battle's over."

"And if we're really lucky," Markus murmured, "one of our Apaches will put a rocket into this truck."

Jeremiah hoped he was joking, though he had the feeling he wasn't, at least not entirely. "C'mon, cheer up, man. We'll escape. Or we'll get rescued. Nobody -- not Kurdy, not Erin, not Lee, for damn sure -- is gonna let us get dragged off."

"Yeah," Markus said.

There was nothing in his face to indicate whether he believed it or not, and he didn't say anything else. Jeremiah found his silence unsettling, since Markus usually had a lot to say about things.

Not long after, Markus twitched one shoulder repeatedly, as though trying to dislodge a bug.

"What's wrong?" Jeremiah asked.

"There's this tickle down my back," he muttered. "It's annoying."

"Turn your head a little to the right," Jeremiah ordered, and Markus did slowly, revealing that, as Jeremiah had thought, Markus' head wound was trickling bright blood down the side of his neck and beneath his shirt. "You're still bleeding."

"Yeah. Scalp wounds bleed a lot," Markus said. "It's not as bad as it probably looks."

"Since it looks pretty fucking awful, I'm glad to hear that."

The truck jolted to a stop, bonds pulling at Jeremiah's wrists sharply but keeping him in place. Markus wasn't as lucky, getting thrown forward and then losing his balance so he fell into the truck bed.

He gasped once, then compressed his lips tightly. He curled up on his side as much as he could, the bloody mess on the side of his head dull and black in the dim light. Jeremiah wished he had a hand free so he could at least push the damp strands of hair off Markus' face.

He'd never seen Markus suffering like this. Even when he'd been shot in Danbury, he'd passed out pretty quickly. Jeremiah hadn't worried that Markus would die then either, but now he watched Markus in his huddle of misery and wondered what he was going to do if Markus' injury was much worse than he thought.

What if he died? What would the Alliance do without its center? It would go on, Jeremiah was sure; they'd gone too far now for it all to fall apart. And Markus had been careful not to center the Alliance around himself, in some sort of megalomaniacal Daniel-like way, so its existence didn't depend on him. But at the same time, no one in the upper levels of the Alliance doubted Markus was the spider in the middle of the web, weaving the big picture. If he was gone...

A cold lump of dread formed in Jeremiah's gut. There was absolutely nothing he could do to help Markus, either.

He heard the sound of some soldiers approaching right before the flap was thrown back. A kid, not more than eighteen, one of the few infants who survived the Big Death, opened the tailgate and looked inside. "Get out."

Jeremiah shrugged as much as he could, and showed teeth. "Love to, but I'm a little tied up right now."

The kid sneered back. "Not you. Him." He leaned in and grabbed Markus' boots, pulling him backward out of the truck. Markus didn't resist, though Jeremiah thought he was too tense to be truly unconscious.

"What are you going to do?" Jeremiah demanded.

"Ask him a few questions about Thunder Mountain," the kid answered.

The dread burst into cold fear. Interrogation? For himself, he didn't worry -- he'd already faced the worst that Valhalla Sector could dish out, and he wasn't going to squeal on the Alliance now any more than he had then -- but for Markus, already hurt, this was trouble.

"Leave him the fuck alone!" Jeremiah insisted. "That idiot Derek practically cracked his head open. He's in no shape to answer anything."

The kid yanked Markus closer, his friend reaching in to help him. "He can handle a few questions. And if he refuses to answer, well, that's his fault isn't it?"

Jeremiah's eyes fell on the Daniel armband the kid was wearing and his chest went tight with furious hate for these people -- not only had they made Libby into a liar, but they thought nothing of casual torture as a means to an end.

But Markus wasn't as out of it as he seemed. He pulled his foot free and then kicked out, smashing his boot into the kid's nose. The kid staggered back, holding his nose and swearing.

The older guard reached for Markus, who was on his back, feet up in threat. Jeremiah watched, amazed, as he managed to keep the older guard back with two more kicks.

But another guard joined in so there were two of them, and only one of Markus, and despite his sudden burst of strength, they were able to subdue him, pulling him out of the truck. Jeremiah heard him land with a thump on the ground and winced.

The kid was holding his nose to stop the bleeding, but the look in his eyes was vengeful as he looked down. "You're gonna be so sorry you did that, you son of a bitch."

Despite his age, he seemed to have some kind of authority and ordered the other two, "I want him in the back of my truck. I'll ask the questions as we go."

Jeremiah's last sight of Markus was as they picked him up and hauled him away.

Not long after, the engine turned over and the truck started forward again.

Figuring he had nothing better to do, Jeremiah set to work on the cord tying him to the truck.

* * *

Jeremiah's stomach informed him when it was past lunchtime, and he realized with grim amusement how spoiled he'd become with the mountain and Millhaven able to feed him regularly.

He tugged on the cord. It hadn't started to loosen, but he'd managed to wear a tiny groove, and from that it was easier to keep working at the groove to deepen it. With any luck the soldiers would stay away long enough for him to get free of the truck, even if his hands were still behind his back. There were bolts all around the side, holding the canvas down, and they looked sharp enough to make short work of the rope around his wrists.

The truck stopped again. Jeremiah glanced at the opening in the back, hoping that they were going to feed him or at least bring something to drink. His heart beat a little harder, as he realized he might find out how Markus was doing.

The truck flap lifted and Jeremiah saw a familiar face. He tensed up at the sight of Terry, the guy who'd shot Warren at the meeting. "You," he snarled. "Bastard."

"I was told to let you out to have some food and stuff," Terry returned, staring back unrepentant, "but if you're gonna be an asshole about it, maybe I'll just skip it."

Jeremiah glanced away, clenching his jaw. "All right." He couldn't bring himself to look at Terry, knowing his anger would make him shoot off his mouth again, but he stayed quiet as Terry climbed into the truck and cut the rope that was tying him to the side of the truck.

Thinking wistfully of the hours of work he'd just put in to wearing it down, he followed Terry out of the truck, noting the two armed guards with a sour resignation.

The sky was mostly overcast, with a storm building up on the mountains. He caught a glimpse of brightness from the west that put the time in mid afternoon. No wonder his stomach grumbled - the oatmeal had been a long time ago.

They kept guns on him while Terry untied his hands and let him stretch out the cramping in his shoulders and back. They stayed close, but not too close, while he relieved himself and then made him sit down at the crumbled edge of the road. Terry handed him a cup of water and a bar of pressed nuts, oats, and dried berries that was pretty tasty, even though Jeremiah would rather be boiled in oil than admit it.

As he was eating, there was no sign of Markus, so he swallowed his distaste and asked, "Hey. Terry. What about Markus?"

"Lieutenant Carl has him still," Terry answered with the expected smirk on his lips. But Jeremiah noticed that the expression was gone in an instant and Terry glanced toward the lead truck with a more troubled face.

It seemed Terry didn't particularly care for Carl's enthusiasm. Maybe cold-blooded murder was hitting his conscience, assuming he had one. Or, maybe, he just had an upset stomach. It was impossible to know, but Jeremiah tucked that tidbit of knowledge away, hoping it would come in handy.

Only a few minutes later, Markus appeared, walking between two more soldiers. Jeremiah watched him, leaning forward anxiously. He was walking on his own, which was good. He was squinting his eyes against the sunlight, frowning deeply, and holding his neck still, which was no surprise considering his head. His clothes, including his brown jacket, seemed intact and not bloodied, which had to be a good sign. But he was also moving more stiffly, as though every step took conscious effort, so Jeremiah guessed they'd hit him.

He sat down next to Jeremiah, drawing a sharp breath at some twinge.

"Hey," Jeremiah greeted with relief. "How you doin'?"

"Okay," Markus answered, which had to be a total lie.

Jeremiah was going to demand the truth, but then noticed that Markus' hands were tied in front of him, and his wrists were red and swollen around the cords as though he'd struggled against his bonds. If he was hurt, probably it wouldn't be too smart to let the enemy know how much. "You want some of my lunch?" he held up the bar invitingly. "Honey, raisins, good stuff--"

Markus looked away, clenching a jaw and looking greenish. "No. Thanks. No point wasting it."

"Thought so. Here, drink this, you need water." He pressed the cup into Markus' hands, who folded his fingers around it reluctantly. "Even if you puke it up, better than having nothing in your stomach." He looked up. "Hey, Terry. Can I get a little more water? I want to clean his head."

"Jeremiah -- " Markus protested, half-heartedly.

Jeremiah glared at him. "You're covered in blood and the wound's got dirt in it. Since they're obviously not going to clean it, I should."

Terry wandered away and came back with a wet rag. "Here," he handed it to Jeremiah. "Best I can do."

Jeremiah allowed him a small nod of thanks and turned on his knees to dab gently at the side of Markus' head, trying to loosen the debris and dried blood. Markus winced, and once sucked in a breath as a big chunk came off, but mostly held still, gripping the cup with white-knuckles and keeping his eyes closed.

Under his fingers, Jeremiah could feel how much the wound was swollen, and joked, "Lucky thing you have a hard head."

"That's what my mom used to say."

Jeremiah snorted, not surprised, and continued, rubbing the dried blood out of his hair and the side of his neck. The skin was soft under his fingers, yet the muscles and tendons were sharp and hard, and Jeremiah caught himself lingering on the contrast.

He pulled back and threw the bloodied cloth back to Terry. "Thanks." He surveyed his work. "Much better. I don't think even Valhalla Sector medic Mister Chen could do better."

Markus ignored the slur on Lee. "Thank you. It feels better."

"I doubt that."

"Well, okay, it's worse; I think my head's going to explode," Markus admitted. "But thank you anyway."

"You're welcome," Jeremiah returned, shaking his head at Markus. "So what did Lieutenant Carl want?"

"The usual," Markus answered after a moment. "I told him things he didn't want to know, instead." His lips lifted in a definite satisfied smirk. "Like how Daniel is a figment of someone's imagination, and his regime is corrupt and evil. And how fear is no way to build a lasting society. And then I mentioned something about the Alliance wiping it from the face of the Earth."

Jeremiah could imagine. Markus was stubborn as hell and didn't like bending to anyone. He'd mouthed off to Derek, and no doubt done it some more with Carl. "Being a smartass can get you killed," Jeremiah warned.

"That's funny coming from you," Markus retorted, but he didn't sound amused. His voice was hoarse, and Jeremiah doubted it was because of his head. He slumped into Jeremiah, who braced himself just in time, as Markus' weight settled against his shoulder.

"God, do I feel like shit," he muttered into Jeremiah's ear.

Word came down from mighty Lieutenant Carl to move out, prompting a flurry of movement as the soldiers finished up whatever they were doing and got the trucks started. Terry came up. "Both of you, up. Back in the truck."

Jeremiah stood. Markus followed, but when he was on his feet, he swayed, stumbling to catch his balance, and shut his eyes tightly. Jeremiah put his arm around Markus' waist, trying to support him as they made their way back to the truck.

Jeremiah helped him climb inside with a few shoves.

"Hands," Terry ordered.

With a sigh, Jeremiah turned and held out his hands. He half expected Terry to make him put them behind his back, but Terry obligingly tied them in front of him.

Jeremiah scrambled inside before Terry changed his mind, and the tailgate slammed shut.

Markus was on his stomach, head pillowed on his bound hands. Jeremiah put his back against the wall to brace himself.

The truck jerked forward again and bounced and jerked across the uneven paving, heading more northward. Jeremiah guessed that they were hugging the mountains, because Carl feared getting caught in the plains when Thunder Mountain had helicopters. But he liked the idea that Carl was lost.

Jeremiah glanced down at his wrists, and then at Markus. He leaned forward and murmured, so no one in the front could hear, "Do you think we can untie each other? We can crawl over the tailgate and be out in the woods before they can stop."

Markus turned onto his side and regarded Jeremiah. "I might be able to untie you. You could escape."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"I'd be more hindrance than anything," Markus dismissed that with infuriating calm. "But if you could get back to Alliance lines, then -- "

"And tell them I left you here? No fucking way. We go together or not at all."

Markus pulled himself upright, as angry as Jeremiah. In the dim light his skin was pale, but his eyes seemed overly large and dark. "Don't be stupid. If you can escape then you should."

"You could too."

"As you delight in rubbing my nose in it, I'm terrible out of doors on a good day. And this is most definitely not a good day. So, if you get the chance, you escape."

"**I'm **not the one they're intent on beating up," Jeremiah said. Markus flinched at the words and Jeremiah knew he was right. "And I'm not leaving you here alone."

"Would you do what I want, just once, without bitching?" Markus flared, sounding frustrated and tired. "I don't want anyone else dying for me!"

Panting, he glanced away, as though he'd said too much.

Jeremiah was at first struck by the unjust comment -- didn't he do a lot of what Markus wanted? -- but then he frowned, wondering what Markus was talking about. "Anyone else?" he asked. "Who?"

Markus scooted back to sit against the opposite wall, gaze fixed on his bound hands. "Never mind."

"No, really, what do you mean?"

"You were there, what do you think I mean?" His voice softened until Jeremiah could barely hear it. "Meaghan killed all those people for me. I try to tell myself it was for other things -- for freedom, for the survival of humanity -- but it was for me."

Jeremiah answered without thinking, bitterness and anger acidic in his gut, "Well, at least you know she really loved you. She wasn't lying to you with every kiss, every touch of her hands, thinking of someone else."

Markus didn't look surprised and Jeremiah wondered how and when he'd found out. But when Markus spoke, it didn't seem like he was listening. He murmured to himself, "I never kissed her. I never touched her at all."

And of course he hadn't, Jeremiah knew that. Because Meaghan's touch killed. He'd also spoken with Erin after that kerfluffle when Theo'd come inside, and as far as she knew, Markus had never been with anyone in the mountain. Which had stunned Jeremiah for days, but he'd never got up the courage to ask Markus directly.

Figuring there was no time like the present, he asked, before he lost his nerve, "So does that mean you've never... y'know?" he stopped, realizing that he was asking something that was none of his business. Markus didn't react, and Jeremiah clarified, clearing his throat. "Never had sex?"

Markus hesitated, looking at his hands, before he lifted his head, eyebrows up and tone sarcastic, "What? You think I've been a monk for the last fifteen years?"

Jeremiah shrugged. It did sound ridiculous when Markus put it like that. "Well, you're the one who had the girlfriend in a plastic box, man. How was I supposed to think anything else?"

He had hoped he was lightening things up, but the reference back to Meaghan made Markus close his eyes. "I still dream about her," he murmured. "Touching her, being with her. And every single time she jumps anyway."

Jeremiah said, wishing he could help ease the pain written there so clearly in Markus' face, "Sorry."

Markus didn't answer, and after a little while of silence, Jeremiah was sure he had dozed off.

Jeremiah watched him, wondering. This was the first time in a long while that Jeremiah had heard him mention Meaghan's name or anything about how much he still missed her.

How much of that grief, and the guilt for the deaths at Valhalla Sector, was weighing on his unwillingness to try to escape? Hell, how was he feeling guilty for that at all? Jeremiah was glad he'd gotten out of there, and after what Waverly had done to him, they deserved it.

Except... his mind treacherously flashed images of some young adults, as trapped as he'd been, all dead on the floor.

He wanted to believe that no one who had survived the Big Death could be innocent. But he glanced at Markus, and for the first time wondered if those people had been guilty. It was an uneasy thought, and he tried to push it away.

* * *

Jeremiah jerked awake, hearing a distant, familiar sound. The repetitive beat came closer and he reached across to nudge Markus' leg with his bound hands. "Markus. Wake up. Hear that?"

Helicopter.


	2. Chapter 2

The truck stopped and the engine idled more quietly, allowing the sound of the approaching helicopter to reach them clearly, as it swept along above the road.

It passed north to south, some distance overhead, and Jeremiah hoped that the pilot saw the trucks.

The sound dwindled and faded to nothing, without a sign that it had seen anything.

"They're looking for us," Jeremiah said.

"Yes," Markus agreed. His voice sounded a bit strange after all the hours of his silence. "That means we probably won at Four Roads."

He didn't sound very triumphant, and Jeremiah couldn't muster too much excitement either -- but he did feel smug. "Yeah. I hope we kicked their ass. You warned Derek he was going to lose."

"I did?"

"Actually the word you used was "fucked." You don't often say that, so it stuck in my head."

"I think I remember that..." Markus trailed off and made a noise in his throat like he was holding back another puking session with just his own will.

"How are you feeling? Worse?" Jeremiah asked, with a sudden pinprick of concern.

"A bit better," Markus answered.

Jeremiah leaned forward to get a look in his face. The late afternoon light was filtered by trees or clouds or something outside, so it was very dim in the truck, but even with as little as he could see, he could see enough. He snorted. "Liar."

"No, really," Markus insisted. But he didn't move from his slump against the side wall. "Other things hurt now, and it makes my head not hurt so much."

"What other things hurt?" Jeremiah pounced on the admission.

"It's okay. Nothing serious."

The truck engine gunned loudly, interrupting anything else he might have said, and the truck started again.

Markus beckoned him closer, and Jeremiah slid across to sit beside him. He said in a low voice, "Now that we know that Erin and Lee sent out people to look for us, we need to help them find us."

"You willing to escape now?" Jeremiah asked.

"It's not like I was against the idea," Markus corrected, with a wry lift of his lips, "but endless wandering in the woods with me in tow would just get you caught again. But if we can get a pilot's attention..."

"They can get us out." Jeremiah finished for him. "We've been heading north as far as I can tell. My guess is Carl wants to keep hugging the mountains as long as possible, before he starts east. We'll have more cover in the mountains, but it's hard going. You up to it? Or should we wait until we start across South Dakota or wherever we start turning eastward?"

Markus shut his eyes, frowning more deeply as though thinking hurt. "No, we can't wait that long. The helicopters won't go out that far. We go as soon as we get an opening." His eyes opened again and held Jeremiah's. "And we make a pact: whoever has the chance, goes. At least one of us has to make it out of here and signal our friends."

Jeremiah didn't want to agree, but Markus wasn't going to give on this. Even though this 'pact' meant Jeremiah might have to leave him here. "All right," Jeremiah said, with a sigh. "See? This is me doing what you want without bitching about it."

The words startled a smile out of Markus. "I guess miracles do happen, after all."

Jeremiah nudged his shoulder with his own. "And some people always have to get the last word."

"You did tell me I talk too much."

Jeremiah groaned, unable to think up a snappy comeback. "You do. So shut up, and get some rest before you make yourself throw up again."

And still Markus couldn't resist. "Yes, Mom."

Jeremiah groaned again, aggravated, but he was also pleased, because it seemed like a good thing if Markus was well enough to be his usually annoying self. "Give me your hands. I'm going to get to work untying you." Markus held up his hands and Jeremiah ran his fingers along the thin woven nylon cord around Markus' wrists, looking for the knot. It was tight, not surprisingly, and it was hard to get room between Markus' hands to reach the knot with both finger and thumb. But he tried, wedging his hands in there and ignoring how Markus' breath caught as the bonds tightened.

Not long after, Markus' head drooped down onto Jeremiah's shoulder. He stirred and lifted it away. "Sorry," he murmured. "Shouldn't be so tired..."

"No, it's okay. I can be a pillow for a little while," Jeremiah said. "Go ahead."

There was something peaceful about sitting there together, with Markus' head on his shoulder. Jeremiah listened to him breathe, and was glad to be here and that Markus trusted him enough to sleep on him.

His mind was at first full of plans and ideas for escape and fevered imaginings about how the battle had gone, but gradually the whirl of his thoughts slowed.

He concentrated on working the knot loose, more by feel than sight, as the sun went down and darkness seeped inside the truck like the flow of ink.

After a little while, the only light was a faint glow against the back canvas, probably from the headlights of the truck behind them.

But then he got it, loosening the knot enough to pull it apart and unwind the cord from Markus' wrists, rubbing the abrasions with his thumbs gently.

"Hey, wake up. You're free -- " he started, but Markus wasn't asleep. He shoved himself away abruptly and was noisily sick in the far corner again, heaving up nothing. Jeremiah heard him spit and then nothing for a very long time, as he panted for breath.

Jeremiah felt reflexively nauseous himself, but ignored it.

"I'm guessing this means you still feel like crap," his voice seemed loud in the dark.

"Something like that." Markus coughed, gagging a little, and his voice was breathy when he asked, "It's gotten dark, right?"

"Oh yeah. I can't see a thing."

"Good," Markus said, making Jeremiah frown with puzzlement, before he explained, "I thought it might just be me."

"Nope." Jeremiah reached out blindly in the direction of Markus' voice and found his pants. He tugged. "Come on back, they're going to have to stop soon. You need to work on my hands."

Markus straightened, with another throat clearing little cough, and soon Jeremiah felt his fingers on his hand, probing blindly for the knot.

"This isn't easy," he muttered. Jeremiah could feel Markus's fingers shaking with small tremors against his hands. "I'm going to see if I can open the flap a little and get some more light in here."

He moved away and soon Jeremiah could see him silhouetted against the canvas, one hand on the tailgate to steady himself as the truck bounced over the rough road.

Suddenly light blazed inside, and Jeremiah raised his hands to block the brief glare of the headlights coming through the middle.

The lights were still dazzling his eyes when Markus came back and grunted with satisfaction. "Better. At least I can see your hands now."

His hands were still shaking though, Jeremiah noticed, and he had to stop often and take slow breaths. He closed and opened his hands repeatedly, working out stiffness, and pressed his fingers to his forehead as though trying to push his brain back in.

They were both jolted forward as the driver stepped on the brake, and the tires crunched on gravel.

"Hurry," Jeremiah urged. "We're stopping."

"Wish I had fingernails," Markus muttered. "Erin would have this off you already."

"Oh, I don't know. If she's anything like her sister, she'd probably enjoy it," Jeremiah teased.

Markus froze for a moment before he returned to pulling and poking at the knot. "There's an image I really didn't need. Thank you."

"Oh, come on, Erin would do you in a second, if you asked. She's carrying a torch, man. You've gotta know that."

"I know," Markus said, but didn't elaborate, concentrating on the knot. "Damn it, it's not loosening."

The truck stopped. The engine grumbled before lurching into reverse. They swayed as the truck turned, stopped again, and the engine died away. It was parking. That suggested this was a longer term stop.

Markus' tone shifted to triumphant. "Ah, there it is. Got it." His motions became quicker and surer as he plucked apart the knot and suddenly, Jeremiah's hands were free.

"Hurry," he whispered, "get your cord and wrap it around. So they won't notice right away."

Jeremiah heard soldier's boots coming near and hastily wrapped the cord back around his wrists, but he held the ends in his hands to keep it tight.

The flap lifted and Terry, with a flashlight, looked in. Jeremiah didn't dare look back to see how Markus was doing, but as he flinched away from the glare, the light went from him to Markus and then between them without stopping. So at least for now, Markus wasn't looking suspicious.

"We're stopping here for the night. You can both get out to eat and piss and things, but you'll sleep back in here." He lowered the tailgate and Jeremiah went first, scooting over the edge.

The usual two guards were there with guns in their holsters.

Beyond them, the three trucks and one jeep had parked in a rough circle, headlights pointing inward where soldiers were already getting a quick camp ready.

The young prick Carl was visible on the other side, ordering people around.

It was an old campground complete with several metal barbecue grills and the skeletons of old picnic tables, their wood either rotted away to shards or stolen for firewood at some point in the past. The afternoon storm clouds had passed away, leaving a star-filled sky and a three-quarter moon still low in the east.

It was already chilly. A cold breeze nudged under his jacket, and Jeremiah hunched his shoulders and wove his fingers together, blowing on them. He was glad both he and Markus were wearing a few layers, because he doubted they were going to get any blankets.

Markus landed next to him and scanned their surroundings also. But then he frowned. "I've been here before."

Jeremiah couldn't help but be skeptical of that claim. "You? This very campground? When?"

But Markus sounded certain. "We stopped here for lunch when we were driving back from the university in Laramie."

At first the words refused to go together and Jeremiah felt himself staring blankly at Markus. "You're telling me you remember being here before the Big Death?" Jeremiah asked, astonished. "This very place?"

He was aware of Terry listening, too, but paid no attention.

Markus looked around again and nodded. "My parents and I were on a road trip, looking at colleges." He smiled in wry reminiscence. "I was a bit, um, ahead of things and Wyoming had a good program for early entrance. Plus, I only wanted to go someplace I could ski." He laughed once, to himself. "So I ended up living under a mountain rather than on top of one. There's irony for you." The toe of his boot prodded at the flattened weeds and the gravel beneath them and he let out a little sigh, looking around again. "It didn't look this way, of course, but I was here."

Jeremiah realized what else that meant -- Markus knew where they were. Their gaze met and he could read the same resolution he felt to get away tonight in Markus' gaze that he felt.

"But it's dark," Terry protested. "How can you be so sure?"

Markus shrugged his shoulders a little. "I just am. I have a good memory."

"So you do remember the codes for Thunder Mountain," Terry said, a glint in his eyes.

Markus answered coolly, "I lied."

"Thought so. Lieutenant Carl will have to try harder then," Terry said. Jeremiah thought he heard the same eagerness in Terry that he'd heard in Carl before, and his stomach roiled in disgust.

"It's not going to do him any good without an army," Markus said.

Jeremiah smiled at the surprised look on Terry's face and added to the jab, "Such a shame. All your buddies getting wiped out like that."

His blind guess didn't seem too far off the mark, since Terry flinched and looked away.

But Terry only needed a moment to recover, before he sneered back, "You think that was all we have? Daniel's armies are vast -- more join every day, especially when the people hear that you two have been captured and are being brought back for trial."

To Jeremiah's surprise, Markus shrugged, instead of retorting. He coughed into his 'bound' hands. "I could use a drink of water and the restroom." He nodded toward one of the trucks on the far side of camp. "It used to have flushing toilets. They might still work."

Jeremiah saw nothing to indicate a structure in the dark, but the truck headlights were blinding him. He eyed Markus, unwittingly impressed. Markus usually knew things out of books that were occasionally interesting and relevant, but not very practical in the real world.

Terry grabbed Markus by the shoulder and shoved him roughly the other way, toward the dark on the other side of their truck. "Over here. That's good enough for you."

Struck by another fit of dry heaves, Markus staggered past the truck, nearly falling, and Jeremiah darted close to try to catch him.

As they were both bent at the waist, Jeremiah heard the faint whispered command, "Here."

Jeremiah was hard-pressed to swallow back his surprise as Markus straightened. He realized that if Markus was planning everything so quickly, he'd better get ready too. He took stock of their position, glancing around hurriedly.

Their chances weren't going to get better; Markus was probably right about that. His weaving path had taken them around the truck, out of sight of the camp.

Only two guards plus Terry had followed. All three had pistols, still holstered. Beyond was forest. Some scrub oak had grown right up to the edge of the camp ground, offering some cover only ten feet away. Pines grew behind them, tall silhouettes in the moonlight.

Jeremiah walked slowly toward the low ditch that surrounded the campground, Markus at his side.

"That's far enough," Terry snapped.

Jeremiah shrugged and stopped, thinking furiously. He needed to get one of them close enough to hit and take his gun. Then the idea came to him, and he smiled into the dark.

He contorted his arms and grunted, "trying" to unbutton his fly. Then he gave up with a sigh of irritation.

"Can you untie me, or at least loosen them?" Jeremiah turned partially around, and held up his hands. "I can't work the buttons on my pants."

Terry curled a lip. "I won't untie you, but I'll unbutton your pants. But that's all - anything else is up to you."

Jeremiah repressed a smirk and answered, with some actual sincerity, "Thanks, I appreciate it."

He waited, forcing himself to hold still, as Terry approached. One guard, brighter than the rest, pulled out his pistol but only held it in his hand threateningly, not pointing it.

Biting his inner lower lip, Jeremiah hoped Markus stayed out of his way. They were only going to get one chance at this.

Terry reached out, and Jeremiah yanked him forward into his own body. It took a panicky too-long moment to free one hand from the entangling cord and snatch at Terry's gun.

Terry grunted with the impact, and then shouted, "Shoot him!"

The other guard raised his weapon and Jeremiah shoved Terry in his direction. The guard fired, and struck Terry in the back. His eyes opened wide with shock and he took two stumbling steps forward, toward Jeremiah.

But Jeremiah already had Terry's gun up, and his thumb slid across the safety. Trotting backward, he fired at the first guard and then the second, but missed. He pulled the trigger again.

The gunshots had roused the camp, and he could hear shouts and a few people ran into view around the truck. He fired twice more, striking two, and the others ducked back around the truck.

Then he turned, saw that Markus had started up the little ditch, around the scrub, and sprinted after him.

Someone fired an automatic, and his back tensed, but nothing hit him. The shrub to his right was shredded under the hail of bullets.

He kept running.

Behind him, he heard someone shout orders to follow.

They jumped out of the ditch and scrambled up a rocky rise, getting under the taller trees. There wasn't as much scrub here, and the forest floor seemed mostly pine needles and low, small weeds. It was very dim beneath the trees, despite the moonlight, but they ran as fast as they could, even though Jeremiah wondered with each step when he was going to put his foot in a hole.

Behind him, he heard pursuit. His hand tightened on the gun in his hand, and he considered stopping and taking some of them out. But that would also give away their position. They needed the cover of the dark and as much distance as they could get.

So he kept going. He stayed behind Markus, who had his head down and doggedly ran, and listened for anyone gaining on them.

Markus shifted direction, angling across the hill instead of up it, and Jeremiah followed.

It was a random path, but that didn't matter, so long as they weren't going in a big circle by accident. If they ended up back at the campground, he was gonna be pissed.

But they soon hit their first snag doing it this way -- a steep bank that led down to a dry stream bed, and another steep bank on the other side.

Markus half-slid down the bank and instead of climbing the other side as Jeremiah expected, Markus turned up the stream and began climbing. The footing was more rocky here, so they went more slowly, being careful, but the moonlight penetrated better. After a little way weeds and some kind of other shrub grew on the banks, proving some cover. It was muddy at the bottom, from the remains of summer thunderstorms, but they both tried to stay on the rocks to avoid leaving a trail.

Markus tripped on something and fell to his knees. Jeremiah almost ran him down, but stopped in time, hand on his back to keep himself balanced.

"You okay?" he whispered when Markus didn't get up immediately.

He was panting harshly, hand over his mouth, trying to stay quiet. "Rest," his whisper was more of a gasp. "Dizzy."

Jeremiah nodded, although Markus couldn't see it, and squatted next to him. He held the gun ready and listened for their pursuers. But they either weren't close or were being quiet, because he couldn't hear anything over the sound of Markus' breathing hard.

After a moment, Markus drew some long breaths, settling down. He put both hands to his head, pressing at his forehead. Jeremiah didn't really want to think about what kind of headache he had to have after running for several minutes.

He blew on his hands, as the cold air settled on him. It was going to get colder later, and they had no supplies and no shelter. They were going to have to keep moving.

A radio crackled in the direction they'd come, somewhere on the outside of the shrubbery and reeds that shielded them. His free hand darted out to clutch Markus' knee in warning.

He heard footsteps then, coming closer. Jeremiah's grip tightened, feeling Markus tense up. They both held their breath. They had good cover here, as long as neither of them broke it with noise. He watched in the direction of the noise, but wanted to glance at Markus, fearing that he was going to cough again.

The beam of a flashlight cut through the leaves, sweeping across the far bank. Jeremiah instinctively lowered his head and his fingers tightened on the gun in his other hand. His own heartbeat was loud in his ears, and he could barely hear anything else over the rapid thumping.

The steps and the flashlight beam turned downstream and in a few minutes were out of hearing.

They both waited tensely to make sure there was no one else close. But without any more sounds, Jeremiah leaned close and murmured into Markus' ear, "We should keep going. Softly."

Markus nodded and rose up to a half-crouch. He continued upstream, slowly but quietly, and Jeremiah followed.

They went up until the stream opened out into a shallow pool with muddy banks.

Jeremiah grabbed Markus' sleeve before he stepped in the pristine mud and directed him wordlessly to step on the rocks toward the bank. Markus nodded once, looking rueful at the near-mistake, and made his way across to the bank without leaving a trail.

The night crept by as they walked, generally higher on the mountain and southward whenever they could glimpse the sky.

They were going at a slow pace, halted by Markus' frequent stops, but they were moving. A couple of hours after their escape they stumbled across an old dirt road, recognizable more by the lack of trees along a rough track than anything, but it made the footing a bit better which helped when the moon set.

Damn, it was cold. His breath was puffing and he had to rub at his cheeks when he didn't keep his hands in his pockets. Only moving kept off the shivers, but moving was getting harder as he tired and stiffened.

Markus had been leading but slowed over the course of the night, so he would've fallen behind if Jeremiah hadn't stayed beside him, coaxing and goading him.

Eventually he had to put Markus' arm across his shoulders and half-carry him as he stopped being able to walk in a straight line or pick up his feet. His hand was like ice, and up close his teeth were chattering.

"Here, we can share a little body heat," Jeremiah said. "Now if only we had a sleeping bag and a fire."

"Settle ... for my bed at home," Markus retorted, shivering against him. "... have to stop. So cold..."

"Nope, not stopping. We'll rest in the daylight, I promise. And dawn isn't that far away."

Jeremiah was praying that the rutted old truck path led somewhere like a cabin. A treehouse. Hell, he wouldn't sneer at an igloo.

Then he snorted to himself. While he was dreaming, he should include a radio and some cans of food and running water. Plus a generator and electric lights...

The track continued to unspool before them, winding its way through the trees and heading generally deeper into the mountains.

But Markus' strength ran out before they found the end of it. He stopped moving altogether, and Jeremiah nearly dragging him a few steps, before he realized what happened. Sagging into him, Markus whispered haltingly, "Sorry. Can't... Rest."

His eyelids shut and abruptly Jeremiah was taking all of his weight. "Markus!" he called lowly, alarmed, trying to get him to rouse.

He slapped Markus on the cheek once, with no response. He was out.

Fuck, what to do?

He couldn't carry Markus; that meant they had to stop.

Still holding Markus up, he looked around frantically for some kind of shelter. There, that pine. It looked like a Christmas tree, with skinny, droopy branches, but it was big enough.

He dragged Markus nearby and laid him down for a moment. He broke off branches for an entrance and put them on the ground as a cushion. Then he dragged Markus under his arms, hands locked around his chest. He was heavier than Jeremiah expected, or he was just that tired himself. But he soon had them sitting together, his back to the trunk of the tree.

The pine scent made his eyes water, but Markus was on his lap, back against Jeremiah's chest. Jeremiah felt squished between Markus and the tree, and there was a branch knot under his ass that was going to give him a bruise by morning, but at least they had some shelter and could sort of warm each other.

He knew he shouldn't sleep, and he tried to stay awake, but his own exhaustion and Markus' warm weight and steady breathing lulled him down anyway.

_continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

The raucous squawk of a blue jay woke Jeremiah with a start, and his eyes popped open.

The sun was filtering through the branches, slanted with the early morning. The sap smell tickled his nose but he held back a sneeze by wrinkling his nose.

Then he realized that he wasn't leaning against the tree anymore. At some point before dawn Markus had curled up on the ground on his side, and Jeremiah had spooned up behind him tightly, one arm tucked around his waist. Markus was holding onto that hand with both of his against his chest, like he was clutching a teddy bear.

A warmth rushed through Jeremiah, realizing where he was. He didn't remember moving, though obviously he had. While he'd cuddled for warmth in the past, this was... it felt different. It was comfortable. And it shouldn't be comfortable.

This was _Markus_, after all. He was annoying, know-it-all, moody, talked too much, and was way too smart. He was also hung up on a woman he'd only ever talked to, because he was just that strange.

Gingerly he pulled his hand free. Movement sent shooting pains and tingles from fingers to shoulder, and his body informed him very clearly that moving anything else without slow care was not going to be appreciated either.

He moved back and rolled over, right onto the gun. "Ow. Fuck."

Markus didn't stir at the exclamation, so Jeremiah sat up beneath the sheltering pine tree, stretching his arms and curling his toes to try to get feeling back in them.

His mouth was all cottony; swallowing helped, but not enough. They had to find some water this morning.

He grasped Markus' shoulder and shook it. "Markus? Wake up. We've gotta get going."

Markus murmured incoherently, and he curled up into a ball like a pill bug.

"C'mon, man, get up. The sun's up, and I'm sure that asshole Carl's sent guys after us."

"Go 'way," Markus muttered, and the petulance in it made Jeremiah grin and poke him.

"What are you? Five?"

"I feel horrible." Markus combed his fingers through his hair, holding his head.

"Well, you're gonna feel a lot worse when Carl's whipping the skin off your bones, so ... wake up!" He leaned down and shouted the words, and Markus flinched and covered his ears with his hands, sucking in a breath of pure pain.

Feeling instantly contrite, Jeremiah squeezed his shoulder. "Sorry. I forgot. I'll give you a few minutes."

He crawled out from under the branches and out into the sun. Stretching out the worst of the kinks from his back, he waited.

It really was only a few minutes before Markus came out of the shelter. In the sun's glare, he squinted and shaded his eyes with a hand. His eyes were creased at the corners and between his brows, in a pained expression deep enough it might be permanent.

Pushing down a twinge of guilt that he felt fine, Jeremiah asked, "How're you doing?"

Markus shot him a glance, weighing giving him the truth. Jeremiah glared back, warning him not to lie.

"Been better," Markus answered finally. He rolled his head on his neck slowly, eyes shut, and stretched as though his muscles were as stiff as Jeremiah's. "But I don't think anything's too bad. Carl's minions were careful. My head still hurts the worst of anything, like someone's drilling a big hole in the side of my head. With a butter knife."

Jeremiah winced in sympathy. "A hangover without the drinking, huh?"

"Pretty much." He looked up into Jeremiah's face, face somber. "I'm pretty fuzzy on most of yesterday, but I remember enough to know I wouldn't be alive without you. So, thank you."

Jeremiah couldn't return the look, dropping his eyes to the ground. "No problem. Couldn't let you die." He cleared his throat. "I figure Carl's sending men to look for us. And we need to find water. So we better get going. We're not that far from them."

Taking a moment to respond, Markus nodded a little. "Yes. And one more thing, I think. Do you have a knife? Something like that?"

Jeremiah pulled the .22 from his back and held it up. "I grabbed this off Terry. It's got six bullets left."

Markus frowned at it and seemed disappointed. "It's not very shiny."

He was dismissing the gun for not being "shiny" enough? What the hell was he talking about? He did have a bump on his head, and that could explain it. Maybe.

Continuing, Markus said, "No knife? What about a mirror?"

Jeremiah gave him a look and didn't bother to answer that one. A mirror? Of course he didn't have a mirror.

Markus was thinking out loud. "Then our best bet is my belt buckle, probably, if we can polish it."

Jeremiah frowned at him. "For what? To make it prettier?"

Markus rubbed at his head with his fingers and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead for several seconds, before answering with excess patience, "To flash sunlight at the helicopter. Reflections can be seen from the air from miles away, especially high ground. That's why fighter pilots used to carry mirrors, in case they crashed behind enemy lines and they had to signal their retrieval squadron."

"How the **hell** do you know that?"

Markus' smile was small but genuine, amused at himself. "I read it in a book."

Jeremiah snorted and shook his head. He could certainly believe that, though it didn't sound like the book was one from Markus' usual collection. "Okay, so we'll try to flash a passing helicopter. Anything else from that book we could try? Smoke signals?"

Markus didn't like that idea, of course. "Smoke's too visible. Daniel's people will see it too. We'll have to be pretty desperate. But we could try something else: if we find a big meadow, we can drag logs and branches to make the biggest sign we can, visible from the air."

"Saying what? "We're here"?" Jeremiah asked. It was more a reflexive response, though, and he didn't really mean the sarcasm. Because it was a good idea and he should've thought of it. He would've, he thought, with a little more time. Markus had obviously been thinking about this for awhile, cracked skull or not.

"A symbol. Lee will know what it means and it's from me," Markus answered. "He read the same book."

"Somehow I'm not surprised," Jeremiah muttered. He shook his head, amazed again, in spite of himself. "We're not doing any of that standing around, are we? Let's go."

They continued up the old track, and the sun was warm on their backs.

The first thing they found was water. The track, it soon became clear, was an old road to a river for fishing.

It was late summer, so the river was slow and lazy, here widening to a fairly deep pool between the reeds that choked the banks. Tall cottonwoods shaded the water, and he suspected there were fish in there when his eyes caught a ripple in the almost still water.

Jeremiah led the way upstream to where the river narrowed and moved faster. He knelt, drank, and scooped water over his head and face and rubbed briskly, glad to wash at least that much. "Your turn," he said to Markus and gestured him to come up to the edge.

Markus nearly fell in when he knelt down, losing his balance and having to clutch at a stand of wild irises. But he drank, pausing after each swallow to let it settle in his stomach.

"I'm going to see if I can catch breakfast," Jeremiah said. He put the gun down next to Markus. "Keep an ear out."

Markus nodded. "I don't think we should stay too long."

Jeremiah agreed with that, and took off his jacket and shirt to lie down on the bank with his hand dangling into the water. Hopefully his fingers looked enticing.

Already bored, he turned his head to watch Markus upstream, as he removed the plain brass buckle on the front of his pants and dipped it in the river. Even wet, it gave off a dull gleam. Using some river mud and the hem of his t-shirt he started to try to polish the back, not glancing downstream at all.

Something cold nosed at his fingers, and Jeremiah stilled, waiting. _Come on, little fishy, come explore..._

Somewhere to the east a flock of birds rose up in startled flight, circling over the river.

It could be a bear or other animal scaring the birds, but if it was people, they were in trouble. Not that a bear couldn't be trouble too. He grabbed for the fish, but it wriggled free of his hand as he pulled out of the water. His stomach grumbled at the food getting away.

He grabbed his clothes, and Markus saw him coming in a hurry. "What?"

"We gotta go," Jeremiah told him curtly, yanking his shirt over his head.

Markus didn't ask why either; he rinsed his buckle, stood up and handed the gun back to Jeremiah.

Jeremiah tried to keep the river on the left, as they headed west and deeper into the mountains. He set as fast a pace as he could, though it was slower than they'd been able to go on the old road.

"You think that was Carl's men?" Markus asked along the way.

"Maybe. Didn't think it was a good idea to stick around and find out."

"Probably not," Markus agreed and fell quiet. He turned his buckle over in his hands, again and again, as they walked. It seemed a little less dull, but nowhere near as shiny as a knife blade or a mirror. It was going to need work.

A low cold feeling settled in the bottom of Jeremiah's gut. If they didn't get rescued by a helicopter in the next few days, they were going to be in deep trouble -- lost in the mountains, with no gear. Markus was hurting more than he would admit out loud as well, that much was obvious. Hopefully there was nothing more seriously wrong with him though, or they were screwed.

They needed to get rescued. That meant Markus' crazy-ass plan of polishing his belt buckle and laying signs in a meadow might be their only hope. And if they were depending on Mister "I spent the last fifteen years of my life in a hole in the ground" Alexander to save them in the forest, they were probably screwed anyway.

Jeremiah sighed and kept walking.

* * *

They followed the river as long as they could. Jeremiah stopped frequently to let Markus catch his breath and spend a few minutes polishing his belt buckle with river sand. Markus never asked to stop, but Jeremiah developed an awareness of his breathing and rhythm of his step, and whenever either began to falter, he called a halt to their hike, even when Markus objected he was fine.

Jeremiah scouted up the river, leaving Markus in a deeply shaded spot to polish the buckle some more. As he had suspected, the water was heading into a narrow box canyon and he didn't think Markus was up to climbing the rock faces. They'd have to turn away from the water and go up the tree-covered slope instead.

But he did find a whole patch of tiny wild strawberries and picked all of them that looked even slightly ripe. He made Markus eat half, and he gobbled his share in a flash. They were delicious.

Markus refused to move for a time afterward, but kept the strawberries down. He displayed the buckle and the back now had a small place that glinted sharply. It wasn't as bright as a mirror would be, but it was something. For the first time Jeremiah began to believe this hare-brained plan might actually work.

They took a long last drink of water and started the steeper hike.

The sun was starting its slide to the west when Jeremiah stopped, lifting his head as a distant, mechanical sound caught his ears. It wasn't natural and it didn't take more than two seconds for him to identify it. "Helicopter!"

"Take it, climb," Markus shoved the buckle at him. "Point it at the sun and tilt it toward the chopper. GO!"

Jeremiah grabbed the buckle and ran up the nearest slope.

He was practically leaping, and very shortly his thighs were burning and his heart was pounding. But he could still hear the sound of the helicopter approaching despite his hard breathing.

At the crown of the slope he stopped and looked around frantically for some sort of clearing. He needed open space for the sun to reach the ground.

There, to his left, he could see an opening in the trees and brighter light beyond them. Sprinting, he vaulted a fallen branch praying there was nothing on the other side, and ran into a clearing caused by the collapse of an old pine.

Pushing through the bracken -- and oh God, please let that not be poison oak -- he scrambled on top of the log and thrust his hand up in the air, thumb and finger framing the belt buckle.

He turned toward the sun, nearly sliding right off as the rotten bark gave way under his foot, and looked for the helicopter.

No, no, not that way. He could see it, the black dot growing bigger and into a more identifiable shape, but it was not between him and the sun where he needed it.

He swung his hand around in big arcs, hoping he could throw the light enough to catch a spark the pilot could see as it passed to the north.

For a full minute, he continued to hold the buckle up and try to throw a reflection, in case the pilot was looking behind him or circling around.

But the sound diminished and did not return.

They hadn't seen. Fuck.

* * *

Depressed by the failure, he wandered back toward where he'd left Markus. He paused on the hill, glancing downward through the narrow trunks of the pine trees. This part of the forest was like walking through columns, with the occasional young tree or shrub with branches down to the ground. So he had decent visibility downhill.

But he couldn't see Markus' brown jacket or his grey pants anywhere.

Frowning, he went forward a little ways, thinking he'd stopped too early. Nothing. Where was he?

He opened his mouth to call out and then closed it again, as a little prickle of unease feathered the nape of his neck and slipped down his spine. Markus might be sitting down, but he wouldn't be hiding, knowing that Jeremiah was coming back. He might have tried to follow, instead of staying put, but he couldn't be far.

He listened. But the wood seemed ominously quiet. No birds, no squirrels, nothing was moving, except the breeze in the tops of the trees. There was certainly no one walking around.

Putting a hand to the back of his waistband, he pulled out the gun and gripped the comforting solidity of it. Keeping near the trees as much as possible, he started down the hill to try to circle around where Markus was supposed to be.

What if the enemy had come up on him unawares? He was still sure that Carl had sent people after them, even if there'd been little sign of them. Bringing him and Markus back east was the only thing to salvage the army's defeat, and he couldn't believe a young prick like Carl was going to give up so easily.

A low sound caught his attention and he froze, listening. It came again, a muffled cough. Markus, it had to be.

He stalked that way, trying not to make a noise in case Markus wasn't alone.

But he was. He was sitting against the big trunk of a tall pine, knees bent, and coughing into his hands.

The sound of Jeremiah clicking the safety on snapped his head up and alarm flickered through his face, before a relieved smile broke a cross it. "It's you."

"Damn it, did you have to hide? I thought Carl's men might have grabbed you."

Markus frowned. "I wasn't hiding. I just sat down. I heard the helicopter go north, did you try to signal?"

Jeremiah plopped down next to him with a sigh. "Of course I did. But they passed to the east of us. They didn't see."

"Then we need more altitude and a big open space to make our message." Markus moved as if to stand up, but Jeremiah caught his sleeve.

"We've gotta start thinking about surviving out here. We need shelter and food. Especially if we go up much more, it's gonna get really cold. And we're not exactly dressed for it." He gestured to his own clothes, thankful that yesterday morning had been chilly so both of them had worn jackets, and Markus had worn a sweater under it, but he didn't care to take the risk two nights in a row.

"No. But we're not that far from the highway," Markus added, "I have no idea how far we are, but it can't be that much. Our pace's been too slow. If they are looking for us, this is too close to set up a camp." He paused and Jeremiah expected him to offer to stay behind and let Jeremiah continue on his own. Although he couldn't possibly expect Jeremiah to let him do that.

But instead of saying that, he let out a sigh. "Not that I wouldn't rather stay here. I ache down to my bones, my head is still killing me, and I haven't eaten anything substantial since Erin's dinner, which is probably not helping how crappy I feel. But I think I'd feel better if I weren't out here, in the boonies."

He rested his head against the tree, face sinking into weary lines as he looked up at the sky. "This isn't my thing, you're right. Being out here, in all this open space, makes me nervous," he admitted softly. "But it didn't always. I used to do two things for fun: hack computers and ski. They both felt the same -- I loved going so fast that you had to keep going, right on the edge of disaster."

Jeremiah regarded him with some surprise. Not the part that that Markus thought anything to do with computers was fun. But the skiing? He could barely picture Markus in the woods, looking right at him under a tree. Skiing fast had to be dangerous. "I'd never have pegged you as a thrill junkie."

Markus shrugged and smiled a little ruefully. "Not anymore, no. I got a little too sedentary. Too bored keeping things running, I guess. Now the most exciting thing I do is paperwork and meetings."

"And get shot at," Jeremiah added, waving an arm in the general direction of the Carl's men to the east. Markus had gotten complacent in the mountain, yeah, but there was a lot more than paperwork these days.

Markus chuckled once. "That too. But that's the price for doing what I want to do. So..." he shrugged and pushed himself to his feet, holding onto the tree to keep his balance. "C'mon, we need more altitude and find some sort of shelter for tonight."

They started up the hillside, past where Jeremiah had found the clearing, and higher, until the pines started to thin and the aspens started to take their place, with their slender white trunks and bright green leaves that rustled in the breeze.

Along the way, Jeremiah glanced at his friend, trying to fit what Markus had revealed so casually into who he was now. It explained the recklessness that popped up occasionally, but still...

The image of Markus speeding down a mountain, his face that familiar mask of concentration, and then stopping at the bottom with a flurry of snow and a big grin, was strangely appealing. It wasn't an expression he'd seen on Markus' face often. Or, actually, ever.

If they survived this, he was going to find a way to take Markus skiing again.

* * *

Jeremiah was thinking about stopping to catch his breath, when he hiked around a large boulder and saw that the trees thinned to nothing straight ahead.

They'd found a meadow, between the higher peaks to either side. The southern facing slope had some stands of aspens, and more ground cover. In the meadow, the grass and other plants were high, and some still had tiny purple flowers all over them. He had high hopes of another stream running through the middle of it someplace.

At first he thought it was a natural meadow, until Markus brushed his hand against a stump and his fingers came away black. "Forest fire. Some years ago, judging by the growth." He wiped his hand on some leaves and regarded the meadow with a smile. "Look," he pointed to the north-facing slope and Jeremiah followed his fingers. There were fewer trees on that side, more rocks, and a lot more blackened skeletons of trees sticking up through the ground cover. "If we could move the blackened branches into the meadow, that's our message."

Jeremiah nodded thoughtfully. "All right. I can do that."

"I can help," Markus objected, but wilted under Jeremiah's look.

"Sit by the stream and be useful polishing your belt buckle some more," Jeremiah told him. "If we get a chopper fly-by in the morning, we'll need to be ready."

Markus, surprisingly meekly, did as he was told. The two of them found a trickling stream in the meadow and drank some water.

He pointed out the many deer tracks in the mud near the stream, and Markus seemed pleased by the notion that they might see some wildlife other than the incessant squirrels. Jeremiah didn't mention the perfectly-preserved paw print on the other bank -- hopefully the bear had moved someplace else in its territory.

It was hard work moving the charred branches and tree trunks down to the bottom valley. His breath was short and he was panting well before he would've down in the plains. As he worked, dumping the branches not far from Markus, it was the sort of exertion that was good for not-thinking.

He gathered the close branches first, and widened out gradually, now keeping an eye out for a possible place to camp. One pine tree - half burned but still alive, was a good source for long sticks to make a lean-to against one of those big boulders up on the other side.

As the sun sank down and touched the western peaks, though the light would remain for a good while yet, he went back to the stream. He was not entirely surprised to find that Markus had curled up on the spongy flowers near the stream and fallen asleep.

He stripped off his shirt to wash the soot off. Damn that water was cold. He shivered and hurried, deciding against getting his hair wet. Rinsing his hands, he shivered again, feeling eyes on him. He realized that the meadow was very open and if any of the enemy soldiers came close, he would be hard to miss.

Slowly turning, looking for the watcher, his gaze collided with Markus', who was watching him sleepily. He didn't look away either, and Jeremiah felt a warm rock drop through him and settle in the pit of his stomach.

He cleared his throat and teased, "You wanna come clean up, too? Cuz you're no better smelling than me."

Markus smiled a little, blinked, and pushed himself upright. "Better not. I'm cold enough already," he called back. He ran his fingers through his hair and gingerly touched the knot on the side of his head. His whole body flinched, and he gagged. It turned into a hacking fit, and he shook in its grip uncontrollably. He bent over, hands curling like claws into the dirt.

When he stopped, he scooped a little water in his hand to rinse his mouth and then sat there, with his head hanging wearily. He muttered to himself, "God, I wish that would just go the fuck away."

Jeremiah had moved closer during the spasm and put a hand on his shoulder. "You're getting better. But we need a shelter or we're gonna freeze our asses off out here. So come on, I could use your help."

He kept a hand on Markus' shoulder, steadying him when he got to his feet and couldn't catch his balance, until he clutched Jeremiah's forearm. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...

But after a few deep breaths, Markus got himself back under control and stepped out from under his hand. "I'm okay. Let's go."

As expected Jeremiah did most of the work, putting down the support sticks. He had to laugh when Markus glared at two sticks which were supposed to be holding each other up - he said something about the angles and force being in balance, but Jeremiah pushed them deeper in the dirt and solved the problem.

But Markus took over laying the flexible aspen branches that Jeremiah pulled off the trees and brought over. With each load, their shelter acquired more of a roof, somehow managing to suspend itself on the few big sticks and against the rock. The damn thing looked like it was practically tiled in green leaves.

"You gonna build a porch?" he asked. I'd like a swimming pool too, while you're at it."

Markus shot him a friendly glare and continued fussing with the green branches, weaving them in among each other. "Wasn't this what you were going to do?" he asked.

"Well, yeah, but I was just gonna throw them on there. Not build a cabin. Is this more from your mystery book?"

Markus frowned at the shelter, which was about waist high, with a roof sloping down from the top of the rock. He was now working on the walls. "No. It seemed logical."

"Well, keep going. While you do that, I'll go make the symbol in the meadow. What should it be?"

"A triangle. As near to equilateral as you can manage."

"I'll assume you mean the sides should be the same."

"Each angle is sixty degrees," Markus added absently as he sat back on his heels and examined the frame of the shelter, branch in hand.

"Which would help if I knew what a sixty degree angle looked like."

Jeremiah meant the comment to be snide, but Markus stripped the leaves off some twigs he was working with and laid them on the ground as a triangle. "Like that. But as long as it's big and a triangle it'll be fine. It's the symbol for a landing zone."

"'Kay. Got it." Halfway down to the pile of charred wood, he glanced back at Markus carefully weaving another branch through the others he'd already put in. Figured that Markus couldn't let the job be done half-assed, he'd want it perfect. But if it kept them from getting cold tonight, it was all good.

The triangle ended up about twenty feet across, and he had no idea whether it was even close to equilateral or not, but at least it was done. After he laid all the logs, several side by side with their blackest sides up, he stomped on the grass for good measure in the middle.

By then the light was fading and getting chilly already. He went up to the shelter where Markus was adding still more branches to the front, leaving hardly any room to get into it

"Quitting time, man. Go grab a drink. I'm going to admire your handiwork."

Markus didn't move for a moment and tossed down the branch he was working with, climbing to his feet, "And here I was going to say that your triangle was a work of art."

There was a sarcastic edge to his voice that made Jeremiah take a figurative step back. "What? I was serious. I'm going to admire what you've done here. Really, for a guy who has barely stepped outside for fifteen years, this is... amazing." And he meant it too. The whole structure seemed to glow green in the fading light, and it looked surprisingly warm and sturdy.

Markus shrugged, but the angry tightness went away from his face. "I've always known how to put things together."

He walked away, toward the stream, and Jeremiah's gaze followed him. He snorted a laugh. "Put things together." Oh yeah, things like an underground military bunker, not to mention an entire country. A little thing like a branch-covered shelter was easy as pie for him.

But Jeremiah was sure that talent of putting things together didn't extend to Markus himself. Because the more he was around Markus, the more he realized that Markus was quite possibly even more fucked up than Jeremiah was, he just hid it better.

* * *

It was dark out now and cold. There was some faint starlight drifting in through the branches and the entrance, enough that Jeremiah could see a dim outline of Markus sitting beside him.

The silence weighed like something Jeremiah could practically touch. He didn't mind the quiet, although his fingers itched out of a habit to write his dad.

But Markus lasted only ten minutes or so after they'd both crawled in. He shifted restlessly, not finding a comfortable way to sit, finally settling with his knees up and his chin on his hands. "Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if the Big Death hadn't happened?"

"Sure," Jeremiah shrugged. "Sometimes. But it's just playing around, because who can know for sure. Why? Do you?"

"I know where I'd be," Markus answered with quiet certainty. "I was already on that road, to college and grad school and some faculty research position someplace. Government work maybe. All of it pretty normal. Not politics. Not... nation-state building." He laughed a little, mocking himself.

Jeremiah stayed quiet to listen. He had the feeling Markus was working his way to something important.

His voice dropped to a low murmur, speaking more to himself than Jeremiah. "The only thing I thought I'd leave behind was my research. Maybe kids. That sort of thing. But now..." he shook his head slowly. "I'm not going to be around forever; nobody is. So what legacy am I going to leave behind? I never wanted to kill anyone at all, and now there's this war. I wanted things to be better, to fix the things that went wrong before. But all I'm doing is leaving a trail of bodies behind me." He opened his hands, spreading his fingers wide as if looking for blood-stains. "I don't know... I feel like I'm on the same path Daniel is, only a few steps behind..."

Jeremiah wondered at Markus killing anyone, but decided asking about it wasn't the point. Markus was worrying about something bigger than that, and it horrified the shit out of Jeremiah that Markus would put himself in the same category as Daniel. He took a deep breath, trying to figure out what he could say. "You're not a monster, Markus. You're not ever going to be a monster like Daniel is."

"You can't know that," Markus murmured. "Power corrupts everyone, Jeremiah. Even me. Didn't I stay snug in my little cave and let the rest of the world fuck itself because I was too busy playing king of the mountain? That's what you said, and you were right. And what's worse, I knew better. Hell I know better now and I'm still doing it."

Jeremiah hated it when people remembered what he said and tossed his own words back in his face. "That's not what I said. But say you're right, what are you going to do? Build a cabin in the woods and be a hermit? Bullshit. You're the one in charge because you've got the plan, Markus. You're the only one who has a hope in hell of succeeding, and me and Erin and Kurdy and Theo and everybody else who's got your back, knows that. And that's because we know you're not in it for yourself."

Markus mulled that over, and finally answered, sounding weary, "Thanks, but maybe, you shouldn't be so sure. The road to hell being paved with good intentions and all that."

Jeremiah shook his head, then realized that Markus couldn't probably see it. "Anybody ever tell you, you think too damn much? Then, here, if it makes you feel better, I'll make you a promise -- you turn evil, then me and my trusty friend Mister Beretta will take you out ourselves."

He expected Markus to chuckle at least, which he did, but when he answered he was serious, "I appreciate that." He let another long silence linger, before his voice came out of the dark again. "Some days, Jeremiah, I remember the boy I used to be and I really don't like who I've become at all."

Jeremiah wondered what he could possibly say that might help. He'd heard a few of Markus' doubts before, but nothing like this. Finally he nudged Markus' shoulder with his own. "The fact that you worry about this shit is proof you don't belong in this dog-eat-dog world. Would I follow you if I thought you were a bad guy?"

"Do you? Follow me, I mean?" Markus asked, his tone light, but the intent behind the words clearly was not. "Because sometimes I'm not so sure of that."

Jeremiah felt a little pang of hurt at the doubt, and grumped at him, "Well, you should be. Even if I don't kiss your ass all the time."

Markus relaxed a little, allowing himself to lean more against Jeremiah's shoulder. He chuckled once. "A good thing too." Markus yawned. "It gets boring."

Jeremiah nudged him again. "Lie down. Get some sleep, and try not to be so depressing in the morning."

The shelter was small and since they were both more aware, Markus tried to leave space between them, pressing back against the rock.

"Markus," Jeremiah finally snapped in exasperation after Markus pulled back his hand from brushing Jeremiah's shoulder. "I'm not going to jump you. But it's going to be really fucking cold, and huddling together will keep us warm. Relax, okay?"

"Sorry," Markus muttered. He inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. He let Jeremiah move back against him. He was tense at first, but eventually his breathing evened out and he slept. Jeremiah followed soon after.

* * *

His breathing was labored and weak. When Jeremiah touched his face, his skin was cold. His eyes were only half-open and the effort to focus on Jeremiah seemed to take all of his strength. His lips parted, and Jeremiah leaned close to listen, but no words emerged.

"Markus, please," Jeremiah whispered. "Don't do this." He gathered Markus' hand in his, and Markus tried to grip back, but his hand trembled. "Don't let go. Don't - " he was begging, he could hear it, but he couldn't help it.

But it was too late. Letting Carl drag Markus away to beat him had been too late. Coaxing him to run for two days had made it inevitable.

God couldn't do this. Couldn't take him away, not now. Not when the world needed him so much. Not when Jeremiah --

Markus coughed, drops of scarlet suddenly on his colorless lips, and there was a horrible gargling sound in his throat.

His eyes glazed and his grip grew slack.

"No!" Jeremiah cried out ...

... and pain woke him, as his flailing hand smacked the rock of the back wall of the shelter.

Jeremiah's heart was thumping from the nightmare, and he opened his eyes to try to chase away the image of Markus staring sightlessly through him.

Sunlight was glowing in the leaves, and staring at the pattern let him slowly calm himself. It had been a nightmare brought on by Markus being hurt, that was all.

He rubbed his nose and blew on his fingers. The air was chill in the shelter, so he didn't think it was much past sunrise.

His stomach felt knotted from hunger. Damn, they needed to find food today. Hopefully Markus could keep it down, too.

Markus who should be sleeping next to him but who wasn't there anymore.

Alarm went through him like a shot, chasing away anything else. He shoved his way out of the shelter, heart beat quickening.

Markus was huddling on a rock not far away, gaze fixed toward the rising sun and the treeline. His right hand gestured low and down to stay still, and Jeremiah froze, imagining Daniel's soldiers had found them.

Jeremiah edged out to see what was holding Markus' attention.

The bull elk was old -- his antlers spread out like a banner above his head. His head was up, big eyes watching these interlopers in his territory. His ears pricked forward alertly, but without fear.

Jeremiah found himself switching his gaze from the elk back to Markus, who was half-smiling with wonder as he watched. There was something reverential and surprisingly open about it, not the more controlled or ironic expression he had most of the time.

The elk turned and left, soon disappearing from view.

"That was... beautiful," Markus murmured.

Looking at Markus and how the early morning light gave his hair a coppery shine and put color in his pale face, Jeremiah almost voiced his agreement. Instead, he cleared his throat and joked, "Well, there went our breakfast." He sauntered closer, hands in his pockets. "You're up early."

Markus shrugged. "I didn't sleep very well," he answered.

"Are you feeling better?"

He nodded. "Some."

His nightmare flashing in his mind again, Jeremiah snapped, "And if you were dying on me, would you actually say so?"

Markus' gaze flicked up to his. Jeremiah had no idea what he saw, but a smile played at his lips. "Everybody needs to keep a secret or two."

Jeremiah groaned. Markus had to be feeling better, if he was back to being cryptic and annoying. But it was something of a relief to fall back into old patterns in dealing with him. "'A secret or two'? You have so fucking many I can't count that high."

Markus was still smiling as he stood up. "Then first grade was a waste of your time. I don't have all **that** many." He started toward the water and tossed back over his shoulder, "The answer is no."

"Figures," Jeremiah grumbled.

He went looking for breakfast and soon had to give up. It was frustrating to have a gun and not be able to use it for game, and doubly frustrating not to be able to cook anything that he might be able to catch. He decided that they were going to make a fire later and hell with the risks: Carl was obviously not looking for them very hard, if at all, and was probably on his way to Boston by now.

He turned over some rocks and found some grubs for himself, but he knew there was no way Markus would eat them. They weren't bad, actually, and food was food.

Returning to the meadow, he waved to Markus who was fussing with the shelter again.

Halfway across he heard the sound.

_Whirp whirp whirp_

The helicopter was back. His hands were shaking so hard, he could barely fit it in his jacket pocket to get the buckle. Where was it? Oh God, he didn't drop it.

No. There it was.

He seized the buckle and pulled it out as the sound continued. It didn't seem to be drawing much closer, and he squinted in that direction trying to find it.

It was east. Far to the east.

Holding the belt buckle up, he pointed it at the sun and then tilted it toward the helicopter, back at the sun.

He focused on the distant helicopter, mentally urging with all of his attention,

_Come on, Chen, see the flashing thing. Come investigate. Shiny metal can't be natural. I promise I won't hate you if you get your ass over here and rescue us. I don't know how long I can keep Markus alive out here_.

"Jeremiah," Markus put a hand on his shoulder. "It's gone."

He jumped, startled by Markus' sudden appearance, and lowered his hand.

"Damn it. They didn't see it."

"Maybe they did," Markus said. "And they'll be back. We'll have to wait."

"For how long? How long are they gonna look for us?" he demanded, frustrated. "I know you made rules to preserve fuel. They're gonna have to stop flying and depend on the recon teams, and you know they're never gonna look way the hell up here."

Markus hadn't taken his hand away from Jeremiah's shoulder, and squeezed it. "One more day, all right? Then you're right, we should go. But it's very possible that Kurdy already found Carl's squad, so the mountain could know we're out here." He let go and his mouth twitched into a wry grin. "And if so, Erin and Lee are never going to pay the least attention to the preservation rule."

Jeremiah let out a long breath, nodding. "All right. And later, I want to start a fire and --"

A gunshot split the air and Jeremiah reacted, shoving Markus to the ground and falling after him.

He landed on top, making Markus grunt. His right hand went to the back of his pants to grab the gun. "Shit, they found us. Are you okay?" he asked anxiously. "Did it hit you?"

Markus shook his head in denial.

"Where the fuck are they?" Jeremiah rolled off him, staying in the dirt, and hopefully partially hidden by the tall weeds and grass. But he was all too aware that they were in the middle of the meadow, with hardly any cover.

"East," Markus answered unexpectedly. "In the trees."

"They tracked us. Or maybe they got lucky. Fuck." And he and Markus had so helpfully been standing in the middle of the meadow, too. God, how stupid.

So far, no one had fired again, but then, Carl didn't want them dead, did he? So maybe it had been a warning shot. "We need cover."

"The rock by the shelter," Markus suggested.

It was about as good as they were going to get. "All right. You go first. And keep your head down."

Markus started crawling on his belly slowly, trying to stay under the level of the grass, toward the shelter up the slope.

Another gun fired, and this time hit the ground not far from Markus' head, kicking dirt over them both.

Markus froze. "They've got a rifle," he said. "Probably a scope."

"No shit."

Jeremiah's heart pounded, as he thought frantically for what to do. He had six bullets, but the enemy had the drop on them and longer range.

If he could take out the rifle, that would even things up. Cautiously he turned and eased up on his elbows, peering toward the treeline. Where was the shooter? And how many were there?

At first he saw nothing but the trees and the shadows beneath them. But he waited, holding onto his patience with a firm grip.

Movement. There was a shadow passing in front of the white trunks of the aspens, slipping closer.

He was going to shoot, but a warm hand settled on his back, distracting him. He glanced at Markus, who had crawled next to him. "No," Markus said. "If you shoot one of them, they'll kill you. We have to surrender."

Everything in Jeremiah resisted the idea of surrendering. Not after everything they'd been through. But Markus' eyes were on his, and Jeremiah remembered his nightmare, how those eyes had gone blank and the spirit inside had flown away. If there was a firefight, odds were good that someone was going to get killed, and he didn't want to see his nightmare come true.

He jerked his head in an unwilling nod and lowered the gun to the ground.

But before either of them could raise their arms, Jeremiah heard the noise of a helicopter again and this time, when his gaze met Markus' there was a new hope shining there.

Markus plucked his belt buckle from Jeremiah's hand and rolled on his back, to point the shiny side at the sky.

The noise of the chopper came closer. It was still high and in the east, but it then shifted direction toward them.

Jeremiah smiled. The pilot had seen them.

Markus was frowning intently, flexing his hands and moving the buckle in deliberate flashes.

The big black helicopter thundered across the meadow, directly overhead.

As it came, Jeremiah went up on one knee, and smiled in grim satisfaction. Two of them had stepped out of their cover to take shots at the Blackhawk. He took a second to steady his aim, and fired toward the troops among the trees. His first shot took someone down, and he dove back to the dirt before he saw what happened to the second.

The helicopter swung around at the far western end of the valley and started back, more slowly this time, and lower to the ground.

The rotors were deafening as it slowed more on approach, pointed straight at the enemy. The small guns beneath the pilots' window fired, and Jeremiah clasped his hands over his ears as the rapid shots shredded the trees.

Then, the helicopter started to lower itself for a landing between them and the enemy.

Jeremiah sprang to his feet, following Markus. The wind from the rotors whipped at him, and he had to shield his face with his hand heading for the door.

Markus tripped and fell to one knee. Jeremiah grabbed his forearm and pulled him up, toward the open side of the helicopter.

The front guns were firing again, adding their roar to the blades.

Finally they were there and Jeremiah shoved Markus on board, following after. He grabbed one of the straps on the side and yelled to the two men up front, "We're on. GO!"

The helicopter lifted off and the big gun stopped, leaving his ears ringing.

He glanced down to make sure Markus was strapping himself in. Markus was tucked against the jump seat on the floor, safe enough, but his left hand was holding his right arm just below his shoulder. Beneath his hand there was a dark wetness that spread across the fabric while Jeremiah watched.

He glanced up at Jeremiah, and his pale face was that now-familiar mask, clenching his jaw around the pain.

Jeremiah hung onto the different straps on his way to the cockpit. The pilot was Lee, not surprisingly, and he looked around as Jeremiah came up between him and Nathan in the co-pilot's chair.

"Lee! Markus got hit!"

Jeremiah was glad to see Lee's face tighten with concern. "How bad?"

Pointing to his own arm to indicate the place, Jeremiah added, "He's bleeding a lot."

Lee nodded his understanding, and spoke briefly over the helmet comm to Nathan. The helicopter started to descend and when they were down, in a different area of what had been a large forest fire, the rotors started to slow.

By the time they stopped Lee already had out the medical kit and he and Jeremiah were kneeling beside Markus.

"Thanks for the pick-up, Lee," Markus said.

"I'm glad you're in more or less one piece," Lee said. He took the morphine hypodermic out of the kit. Markus winced when it went in his leg, but didn't complain about getting it as he normally would have.

"You can see that Markus still hasn't learned to duck," Jeremiah said.

"Yeah, this is getting to be a bad habit," Lee agreed, serious-faced as he wound the gauze around Markus' upper arm.

Markus' eyes went from one to the other and he frowned. "You two are supposed to fight," he said, with a distinct tired whine in his voice. "Ganging up on me isn't fair..."

Lee ignored him as he tied off the gauze. "There. That should hold you 'til we're back home."

Markus had looked as if he were drifting off, but snapped his eyes open again at Lee's words. "No. I need to go to Four Roads."

"We won," Lee told him. "Don't worry about it. You need to get stitched up."

Jeremiah almost smiled, surprised that Lee thought this would work.

"No, I need to go," Markus repeated. "I want to see what happened."

Lee hesitated. "It was an ugly battle, Markus. You don't want to look."

Markus straightened, his expression fierce. "And that's exactly why I have to see. I know you mean well, but you can't protect me from the cost of my decisions. Go to Four Roads."

Lee flattened his lips but nodded. "All right."

Between them, Jeremiah and Lee helped Markus into the jump seat and got him strapped in securely. He rested his head against one of the straps and his eyes closed as he gave into exhaustion and the morphine.

They moved to the front and Lee sat back in his seat.

"Where are we going?" Nathan asked. "Back to Thunder Mountain?"

"He needs to get that seen to --" Lee started, as though he was trying to talk himself into disobeying Markus.

"No," Jeremiah interrupted. "Four Roads."

"But he's hurt --"

"He's been hurt since that asshole Derek gave him a concussion. And trust me, it didn't slow him down much." He laughed once, ruefully. "He's stronger than you think. He's sure as hell stronger than I ever thought. Go to Four Roads. He's right, he needs to go."

Jeremiah knew Markus was going to feel guilty about the deaths, but better guilt than being isolated in the mountain. People really would become faceless numbers to him if he never saw them. And that way led to Markus becoming what he feared the most.

"We can't protect him from who he is," Jeremiah said quietly, more to himself than to Lee. "We shouldn't. Let everyone see he's okay, and that he cares about the battle. There'll be time enough to return to Thunder Mountain later."

Lee searched his face. "You sure?"

Jeremiah nodded. "I'm sure."

To Jeremiah's surprise, Lee listened to him. "All right. To the army then." He started up the helicopter and Jeremiah returned to the back to strap in.

Markus stirred as the helicopter started to land. His eyelids flickered open and his gaze met Jeremiah's across the aisle. For just a moment, their eyes held.

All those hours of watching over him rushed through Jeremiah's mind, as well as feeling that warmth tucked against him. He remembered quiet confessions and sleepy eyes watching him. He remembered how bereft he had felt in his nightmare, watching Markus slip away.

And for an instant, he wondered what would have happened if he'd dared ... more.

In that moment, it seemed Markus might be wondering it too.

But the skids bumped the ground, and the moment was broken. Markus opened his harness one-handed and stood.

He took a deep breath, and his usual calm face slipped over the openness, as if it had never been. Jeremiah felt a pang of regret that it was gone.

"Come on, Jeremiah," Markus said, gesturing him up with his good hand. "Let's go find out what happened while we were on our fun hike in the woods."

Jeremiah smiled at the sarcasm, but the smile slipped away as he watched Markus hop out of the helicopter before the rotors had finished powering down.

Markus walked to meet Kurdy and a whole bunch of others. He didn't look back, confident that Jeremiah would follow him.

And Jeremiah did.

_fin._

* * *

  
_Comments are love!_


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